


Peace Offerings

by GettheSalt



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s02e16 Afterlife, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GettheSalt/pseuds/GettheSalt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you have to go with your 'bad option'. Some people are better equipped to get to them sooner, and butter them up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace Offerings

“I thought old habits were supposed to die hard?”

Grant doesn't jump, because his training is better than that, but, for a second, he suspects his mind is playing tricks on him, because no way is he hearing that voice and it being real and true.

Except, there's someone sitting in the gaudy off-blue chair in the dark corner of the hotel room, just out of reach from the moonlight coming through the windows.

Grant smirks, all bravado. “How long have you been in here?”

“Long enough to think up that line.”

Fitz stands up, in the same instant that he turns on the lamp on the desk by the door. He looks... Well, he looks better than he did the last time Grant saw him.

They both do.

He also looks a lot less afraid of Grant, and that fact could make him sing. He'd meant what he'd said, down in that vault. That it was really good to see Fitz. He wants to repeat that now, but somehow, he thinks those sorts of statements can wait.

As at ease as Fitz is trying to look – does look – Ward knows the line of his shoulders. He spent months on the Bus, pretending he could have the life he did, and learning the people around him. The specialist's mind never turns off. And Fitz isn't entirely at ease. He's nervous, but not overbearingly. He probably has something up his sleeve to protect him, if Grant tries anything less than friendly.

“Not that long, then.” Grant says, and dumps his bag on the floor, shrugging out of his jacket. “Way your mind works.”

They're bantering again. It feels good, but there's a sting to it.

Fitz snorts, and steps forward a little more. Encroaching into Grant's space. “It's gotten better, since last time we spoke.”

Not ' _last time we saw each other_ '. Last time they spoke, it had ended with Fitz playing chicken with his oxygen. Last time they saw each other, Grant had looked at Fitz and wished he had the time to take him aside and apologise properly for what he'd done.

Freedom had beckoned, though.

“That's good.” Grant nods, and sets his leather jacket on the back of the desk chair, noting the backpack and duffel bag in the corner Fitz had been occupying. “Didn't expect to see you here.”

“Is that why you didn't check the room before you just,” Fitz gestures, loose, between the two of them, and the door, and then the room at large. Stalling. He's still having trouble with words, but he's seemingly gotten a lot better. The thought makes Grant inexplicably pleased.

Not so inexplicably. He knows. He cared.

He still does.

“Waltzed in?” Fitz finishes. A good choice of words.

“I tend to be able to handle any incoming threats effectively.” Grant answers, crossing his arms. “You weren't incoming. You stayed in your seat.”

“Well...” Fitz shrugs, then lands his hands on his hips, in a pose so familiar. His pregnant woman stance. “Yeah. Wouldn't do me much good, would it?”

“I don't want to hurt you.” Grant says, then regrets his choice of words at the skeptical raise of eyebrows that faces him, and the argument that's clearly forming on Fitz's lips. “I never wanted to. It wasn't my intention. I tried to get you two to safety with minimal injuries, in a pod that should have floated.” He pauses a second, licking his lips and weighing the next words. Whether or not they'll start a fight, he can't be sure, but, right now, it's a now or never shot to say would he should have all those weeks ago. “And I'm sorry.”

The skepticism dies on Fitz's face. It's clear that he's thinking over what Grant's said, weighing it against the feelings he's amassed over the last many months.

“All right.” He says, finally, turning – turning his back to Grant – and heading for his backpack.

It's all Grant can do not to topple over with the lightness of it.

“All right?”

“Yeah.” Fitz answers, hauling his bag from the floor and digging through it. “It's a start.” He pulls something from his bag. “I guess.”

Grant shakes his head, deciding to leave it alone for now. There are, actually, more pressing questions. Like, for instance, why Fitz is here.

“How did you find me?”

Fitz is still busy with whatever he's got in his hands. “Talbot saw you and Agent 33 on the surveillance. Coulson...” He drags the name out. “Didn't seem worried. I was. I used a few of the tricks Skye's taught me, was able to track your movements. You're good, Ward.”

Fitz turns back, a white wrapped packet in his one hand, a small black cube in the other. “I might not forgive you, yet, but... Things have... Things got bad, at SHIELD. I have a feeling Coulson's going to need your help.”

Grant barely keeps himself from snorting. “Right. Coulson, who told me I would never be a part of his team, will come and ask me for help.”

Fitz shrugs, making his way back across the hotel room. “You're good. We all know that. He's going to need your skills.” He lifts his left hand, the cube pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “And I need your protection, while I work out this.”

“You? I'll help. Coulson?” Grant shakes his head. “Whole other matter.”

Another shrug. “Maybe I can change your mind. For now, the first step in my quest to soften you up?” He hands over the white wrapped packet. It's not very big, barely weighs anything.

Grant has no idea what it could be.

“I told you, it's a delicious sandwich.” Fitz moves past him, headed for the bed, and for the first time, Grant notices the little toolkit he has slung over his elbow. “I tried to save you a few bites. Think of it as a good will offering.”

Grant stares between the sandwich quarter Fitz handed him, and the engineer currently making himself comfortable at the foot of the bed.

For Fitz?

Grant just might get back in the game.

“Well, go on,” Fitz scolds, not even looking up. “I wouldn't taint something _that good_ with poison.”

And the cheeky bastard winks.

 


End file.
